


only when you're holding me

by softeldritch



Series: are you mine [3]
Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: (and by that i mean this is set an indeterminate number of years in the near future), 5+1 Things, Established Relationship, Future Fic, Love Bites, M/M, Possessive Behavior, Semi-Public Sex, Sharing Clothes, Winnipeg Jets, background Ben/Sami, background Brandon/Adam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-12
Updated: 2019-04-12
Packaged: 2020-01-12 03:30:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18438128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softeldritch/pseuds/softeldritch
Summary: “I don’t have anything to be jealous of,” he says confidently, leaning in again, close enough that their visors almost knock together. “You’re mine.”Or, five times Patrik stakes a claim and one time it’s Nikolaj’s turn.





	only when you're holding me

**Author's Note:**

> you ever just write something so unbelievably self-indulgent that you’re surprised god hasn’t just picked you up and slam-dunked you in the cosmic trash can yet?
> 
> yeah.
> 
> (title from _i will never let you down_ by _rita ora_ )

**1.**

Sometimes, even though they’ve been dating for just over two years now, Patrik will quietly say or do something that Nikolaj doesn’t know what to do with. He knows how to read Patrik pretty well at this point—he’d have to, since Patrik tends to be pretty reserved—but Nikolaj gets stumped every so often. Patrik’s weird.

Like tonight. It’s a preseason game, their first against the Stars. It’s preseason so it doesn’t quite feel like normal hockey, more like a warmup to get everyone into the groove, but it’s still fun. The Stars have their shiny new Danish rookie Olsen, their first overall draft pick, and Nikolaj’s been chatting with him during warmups and whistles and commercial breaks. It’s nice having someone to speak Danish with over here. Nikolaj misses it sometimes.

Every time he talks to the kid, though, he turns away and catches Patrik staring at him. More than Patrik usually stares at him, anyway. And it’s always with the same expression; mostly neutral, but with a little furrow in his brow, a little squint to his eyes.

“What’s up with you?” Nikolaj asks after the fourth time, skating up to Patty at the bench as they clear the ice. He bumps his stick against Patrik’s shins. “You’re making a dumb face.”

Patrik makes the face again. “No I’m not.”

Nikolaj laughs, just barely keeping himself from tucking his head against Patrik’s shoulder. It’s not that they aren’t out—pretty much _nobody_ missed Patrik crushing him against the boards in a celly and kissing him stupid after Patty’s Cup-winning overtime goal this past postseason—but he tries to keep public affection to a minimum on the ice. They’re here to play hockey, not for him to get comfy with his boyfriend. As it is, any physical contact they share’s in danger of being torn apart by old conservative guys on TV as _unnecessary_ anyway.

“You’re doing it right now,” he says, tapping Patty’s skates. “You look stupid.”

Now Patrik’s just rolling his eyes, shoving his gloved hand against Nikolaj’s visor. “ _You’re_ stupid,” he grumbles, but when Nikolaj ducks away from his hand he can see the smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “It’s nothing, Fly.”

“Uh-huh,” Nikolaj drags out. “Whatever you say, Patty.”

The ice cleaners finish up and everyone sets up around the faceoff dot. Nikolaj’s next to Olsen again, so he nudges his shoulder against the guy.

 _“Stop pushing,”_ Olsen laughs. _“I’m a lot bigger than you. I don’t think this is a fight you wanna start.”_

 _“You’re taller,”_ Nikolaj corrects. Olsen might be around 6’6, but he’s still a rookie built like a pipe cleaner who hasn’t managed to bulk up yet. And Nikolaj might be built for speed, but he’s pretty sure he could take Olsen down if he really tried. The bigger they are the harder they fall, after all. Olsen kinda looks like a giraffe when he skates, stumbling around on legs that’re too long for him.

The puck drops, Kevin wins the faceoff, and Nikolaj doesn’t notice that Patrik’s staring at him again until their shift’s over and they’re side-by-side on the bench. Then it’s obvious, because then they’re so close Nikolaj can’t help but notice everything about him.

“Seriously,” Nikolaj says under his breath, laughing at the tiny little frown on Patrik’s face. “What’s your problem?”

“It’s nothing,” Patrik says again, even though it’s totally not nothing.

“You’re pouting.”

That makes Patrik pout more. “I’m not. I don’t.”

“You are, and it’s adorable.”

Patrik grimaces. He loves calling Nikolaj cute, but hates it being turned back around on him. Nikolaj’s pretty sure it’s an age thing, since he hates it almost as much as being reminded that he’s two years younger. Patty’s got hangups about the weirdest little things. Nikolaj likes to poke at them as much as possible.

“You’re acting so weird,” Nikolaj giggles, bumping against Patrik’s arm. He wants to tuck himself against Patrik’s side and take a break there. He doesn’t. “But whatever. Don’t tell me. As long this mood doesn’t stop you from scoring.”

That makes Patrik grin. “What are you gonna give me if I score?”

Nikolaj blushes too easily, but he grins right back. “Just one goal in a preseason game? I’ll buy you McDonalds.”

“What about a hat trick?” His voice has dipped low, and he’s ducked down to say it even closer. Nikolaj hits Patrik’s legs with his stick and tries to shove down his responding smile. He doesn’t really manage to suppress the little shiver at the base of his spine.

“We’re almost through the second,” he points out, instead of answering. “And you have no goals.”

“So I’ll get something nice if I do it.”

He’s saved from having to reply when their shift comes up, and he vaults over the boards so he doesn’t have to see Patrik’s smug grin. Because, well. Patrik’s right. And Patrik being right is one of the worst things in the world.

A bit later Olsen spills him onto the ice and stumbles down after him, and they chirp each other about it good-naturedly. Then the period ends with no goals from either team—and more importantly, no goals from Patrik—and they all head down the tunnel.

Intermission is motivating, because they’re up by one and Blake’s good at hyping them up in close games like this. Patrik stays a bit close to Nikolaj, but he’s clingy even when he’s _not_ in weird moods, so Nikolaj doesn’t think much of it. Mostly he just shoves Patrik off when he gets a bit too touchy-feely and does his best to look chastised when Blake gives them a look that clearly says _cut it out_. Buff gives them a thumbs up behind his back, though, so Nikolaj’s attempts at not laughing go to shit quickly.

Then they all walk back out to the bench, the top line heading onto the ice as Nikolaj takes a seat next to Patrik as usual. Olsen skates up to lean over the boards and be an obnoxious teenager, so Nikolaj pokes him in the shoulder with his stick and tells him to fuck off. Olsen skates off laughing.

“He likes you,” Patrik says under his breath.

Nikolaj turns to look up at him properly, and Patrik’s eyes aren’t any less intense than his tone. “Uh,” Nikolaj says, raising his eyebrows as he huffs out a laugh, “are you serious? Is _that_ what this is about?”

Patrik shrugs. “I’m just saying. He likes you.”

Rolling his eyes, Nikolaj knocks their knees together. “He misses home. You know how it’s like, only knowing a few people who speak your language.”

“Yeah,” Patrik says. “And he likes you.”

Obviously Patrik’s just being weird, so Nikolaj just stares at him unimpressed. “He doesn’t,” he deadpans. “Is this why you’re acting so weird? Are you jealous?”

At that Patrik smirks a little bit, crooked and a tiny bit smug. “I don’t have anything to be jealous of,” he says confidently, leaning in again, close enough that their visors almost knock together. “You’re mine.” He says it so surely, like it’s objectively true, and Nikolaj shivers a bit and barely manages to swallow down the little noise in his throat. It’s stupid, how much those two words have an effect on him. Maybe it’s more the way Patrik says them than the words themselves.

“Don’t be weird, asshole,” is what he says, after a pause that lasts just a little too long.

Patrik grins.

A sudden roar fills the arena, even though the period isn’t slated to start for another few minutes. Nikolaj looks around, and then looks up at the crowd, and. Huh. Yeah, that explains it.

Him and Patrik are up on the jumbotron, Patrik still smirking at him while he stares up at the screen. That wouldn’t be too weird except for the neon pink heart around them and the little _Kiss Cam_ logo in the corner. No wonder everyone’s freaking out.

“Hey, Patty,” Nikolaj says with a laugh, smacking Patrik in the arm, “we’re up.”

“Huh?” Nikolaj points up at the screen, giggling at the stupid look of surprise on Patrik’s face as he realizes what’s happening. “Oh.”

Nikolaj’s expecting a quick peck. Something small, to satisfy the requirements of the Kiss Cam. This is still during a game, after all. They both agreed to keep their focus on hockey. Kissing’s off-limits from the time the puck drops to the moment the end of the game is called.

But Patrik shakes off both gloves and removes both their helmets and cups Nikolaj’s face in two big hands, his palms warm and a bit sweaty against Nikolaj’s jaw. He tips Nikolaj’s chin up until it hurts his neck, angles their faces so they won’t immediately knock noses, and kisses Nikolaj so hard it knocks a shocked little noise loose from his throat. The angle’s a little off but Nikolaj melts into it anyway, balancing himself with a hand on Patty’s thigh.

He gets lost for a second, while their mouths are moving together and Patty’s stroking his fingers down the sides of Nikolaj’s neck. The roar of the arena fades into background noise and Nikolaj chokes out another little half-moan at the tease of Patrik’s teeth against his lower lip.

When Patrik draws back, he does it with one last kiss that’s soft enough to make Nikolaj shiver. It takes him a second to open his eyes; when he does, it’s to see Patrik smirking at him, Nikolaj’s helmet in his outstretched hand as he puts his own back in place.

“That was, uh,” Nikolaj takes the helmet and swallows. “What the fuck was that?”

Patrik’s all self-satisfied as he snatches his gloves up from the ground, putting them back on and grabbing his stick. “There,” he says simply, grinning up at the replay of their kiss on the big screen. Nikolaj doesn’t look with him, because he knows he probably looks like an idiot. “Now he knows.”

Nikolaj stares at him. “Is this still about Olsen?”

“Not anymore.” Patrik pats his knee. It’d be friendly if Nikolaj’s body wasn’t suddenly tuned into everything Patrik does, the simple touch making his thigh twitch. “He’ll get it now.”

“Get what?”

“I said before.” Patrik grins at him. “You’re mine. Right?”

Sometimes Nikolaj hates how simple certain things are to Patrik. He doesn’t overthink it; he decides what he wants and then he does it. Like taking a shot, or saying shit like that. That shameless confidence is probably the thing Nikolaj likes least about him. Or maybe he likes it the most. He still hasn’t really figured that out.

So he just glares at Patrik, ignoring the heat creeping up the back of his neck. “Shut the fuck up, Patty.”

Patrik does shut up. And then he gets a hat trick.

Nikolaj definitely hates the confidence, he decides, as Patrik’s smirking expectantly at him after his third goal. He really, really hates it.

  


**2.**

Nikolaj’s just getting lost in making out with Patrik, rolling his hips to chase the edge of his arousal and murmuring quiet noises into Patrik’s mouth, when a firm hand on his shoulder pushes him back until he’s forced to open his eyes and meet Patrik’s gaze. Patrik’s flushed and his eyes are bright blue but he looks otherwise unaffected, which Nikolaj kinda hates and loves in equal measure. He _doesn’t_ love being interrupted so Patrik can indulge his weird eye contact kink, or whatever the fuck is going on right now.

“You should wear one of my jerseys,” Patrik says, his voice a bit ragged.

Nikolaj blinks at him. “What the fuck.” He looks down at their position—they’re reclined in Patrik’s favourite gaming chair, Nikolaj straddling his lap and Patrik caging him in with a hand cupped tight around the back of his neck—and then back up at the complete seriousness in Patrik’s expression. “Patty, what—what the _fuck_.”

“I wanna see you in it,” Patrik says. His thumb starts stroking up and down the side of Nikolaj’s neck as his other hand drags down Nikolaj’s chest, ending up at his waist and squeezing a bit too hard. Nikolaj squirms, glaring at him, until Patrik opens his mouth again and says, “I wanna fuck you in it.” The heat in his voice makes Nikolaj’s hips twitch.

“I don’t give a shit what you want,” Nikolaj lies through his teeth, fingers flexing in Patrik’s hair. “Don’t just interrupt to say that like it’s some big deal.”

Patrik shrugs. “It’s kind of a big deal.”

“Do you wanna make out or not? Cause I’ll go jerk off in the shower if you interrupt again.”

Obviously he won’t, and Patrik knows that. But apparently Patrik’s decided to drop it for now, because he tugs Nikolaj back in and bites his lower lip, coaxing out a noise that Nikolaj’d be embarrassed of if he had the brainpower to focus on anything but the feeling of Patrik’s mouth against his. He grinds forward, swallowing Patrik’s groan. It’s so easy to get lost in this—the pleasure shaking through his body, the feeling of Patrik’s hands on his skin, the little huffs of laughter Patrik gives whenever Nikolaj whimpers against his mouth.

Patrik starts tugging at Nikolaj’s shirt with one hand, pushing it as far up his side as he can, his touch raising goosebumps on Nikolaj’s ribcage. “Take this off,” he mutters, biting at Nikolaj’s jaw. “It’s in my way.”

Nikolaj laughs, shaky and breathless. “Do it yourself, then.”

“Fine.” He gets both hands under Nikolaj’s shirt and manages to wrestle it off even though Nikolaj’s squirming and twisting and overall not making it easy on him. It’s _fun_ , especially when Patrik finally manages to tug it all the way over his head and Nikolaj can see his unimpressed glare. “You’re a brat,” he says, digging his fingers hard into Nikolaj’s waist. “I don’t know why I put up with you.”

“Because nobody else would put up with _your_ bullshit,” Nikolaj says with a grin, wriggling until Patrik’s grip gets even tighter and holds him in place.

Patrik stares at him for a long time, until Nikolaj flushes under the intensity of it and starts squirming again. He doesn’t _get_ Patrik’s thing about eye contact; he just knows it makes him feel hot all over and shy enough to get his heart racing. That’s probably half the reason Patrik likes it so much. Because he’s a dick.

Then Patrik laughs, and wraps his hand around the back of Nikolaj’s neck again. “Cute,” he says, before he pulls him into another kiss.

Whatever snarky comment Nikolaj had about being called _cute_ melts in his mouth. He shoves his hands under Patrik’s shirt, spreading them wide on the hard planes of his abs, as much for support as it is to cop a feel. Patrik’s hands roam over Nikolaj’s back, his sides, up his chest and back down again. Calluses catch on his skin, fingers pressing in too hard. He keeps grabbing at Nikolaj’s thighs, too, big hands making Nikolaj feel a lot smaller than he is.

Patrik squeezes his thighs, and Nikolaj jerks as a moan rips out of him and his dick twitches in his sweats. “ _Fuck_ ,” he groans. “Patty. Patty, you should fuck me.”

“Here?”

Nikolaj scratches his nails into Patrik’s stomach, panting against his mouth. “No, not _here_ ,” he snaps. “I’m not pulling something in my leg just so you can fuck me in your stupid chair.” The thing is, he knows it’ll happen someday, because once Patty’s set his mind on something nothing can keep him from it. Nikolaj’d just like to delay the inevitable until he’s not in danger of being scratched for injury.

“You’re no fun,” Patrik says, but helps Nikolaj out of the chair and follows him up. Then he’s curling big hands around Nikolaj’s face and pulling him up for another kiss.

Nikolaj’s legs tremble, and he can feel them getting weaker like he’s been skating laps around the rink. So he winds his arms around Patrik’s neck, hanging on tight as he bites at Patrik’s mouth and says, “take me to bed, big guy.”

Patrik gets both hands on his ass and hefts him up like it’s almost nothing, and Nikolaj’s moan breaks in his throat. He wraps his legs around Patrik’s waist, nipping and nuzzling at Patrik’s throat. Fuck. There’s just something about this, about Patrik moving him—

They make it to their bedroom—after a few detours up against the wall, where Patrik grinds their hips together and sucks a few hickies into Nikolaj’s throat. Patrik dumps Nikolaj on the bed without warning, following him down before Nikolaj can kick him, bracketing him with his arms on the either side of Nikolaj’s head and his knee between Nikolaj’s thighs.

“Hey, stupid,” Patrik says, his grin a little softer.

Nikolaj smiles back. “Hey, stupid.” He curls his fingers in the fabric of Patrik’s shirt, dragging it away from his broad back. “You should take this off. It’s in my way.”

Patrik sits back on his haunches, tugging the shirt off in one (stupidly hot) motion. Nikolaj only stares for a second, before he wriggles his hips and manages to shove his sweats and underwear down to his knees, enough for Patrik to help them the rest of the way off.

“God, Nik,” Patrik says, and then he’s on him again, kissing Nikolaj until he forgets to complain about Patrik’s pants still being on. Instead he wraps his arms around Patrik’s back again, soaking in the feeling of warm skin against his, bucking his hips when Patrik grinds his thigh down. “You’re so hot.”

Nikolaj’s pretty sure that’s his line, but whatever.

Patrik’s biting a line across his collarbone, and Nikolaj suddenly gets an idea as a bolt of arousal goes straight down his spine. He remembers what Patrik said earlier.

“Patty,” he whispers, rubbing his dick up against Patrik’s through the layers of clothing. “Patty, stop for a second.”

Patrik stills. He lifts up until he’s looking at Nikolaj, brow furrowed. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” Nikolaj takes a deep breath, and swallows. He kinda hates that he happened to remember, because now the idea won’t leave his head, and it’s just. It gets him riled up, and it feels humiliating, and at this point Nikolaj can’t distinguish between the two because his whole body feels hot and uncomfortable and _fuck_ Patrik for being able to do this to him. “I just . . . I wanna try something.” He winces. “But you have to close your eyes for a second.”

Patrik stares at him for a second, then leans back up to sit on his heels again. “What’s up?”

Nikolaj sits up too. He hunches his shoulders, trying to ignore the fire racing through him. “Nothing, nothing,” he says, waving a hand dismissively. “Just close your eyes.”

Shrugging, Patrik watches him warily for a few more seconds before he lets his eyes slip shut. “Like this?” he asks, falling back so he’s sitting on his ass and his legs are sprawled in front of him. “For how long?”

“Until I tell you to open them, duh.” Heart pounding, Nikolaj climbs off the bed, trying not to be too loud as he heads to Patrik’s closet. Lucky he’s always had a light step. “And don’t look. Okay?”

“You’re acting really weird,” Patrik says casually. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

Nikolaj rolls his eyes. “I’m fine. Just—shut up.” He ruffles through the closet, trying not to scrape the hangers on the bar and make too much noise. This is already nerve-wracking enough without Patrik figuring out what’s happening and teasing him about it.

In the corner, Nikolaj finds what he’s looking for. Patrik’s Jets jersey from his second year, the dark blue almost black in the dark of the closet. He slips it off the hanger as quietly as he can and then just—holds it up in his hands and stares at it. It’s still in good shape, because Patrik takes care of old things like this.

Nikolaj takes a deep, slow breath, and slips the jersey on over his head. It settles on him weirdly; he’s not used to wearing a jersey with nothing underneath, especially one that hangs too long around his legs and too loose around his shoulders.

“What are you doing?” Patrik asks, and Nikolaj almost falls on his ass in his surprise.

“Keep your eyes closed,” Nikolaj snaps at him. He steps in front of the mirror to just—check himself over, he’s not really sure—and sucks in a breath at the sight. Patrik’s jersey is way too big on him and the _29_ on the shoulders is really obvious and even in the dim light Nikolaj can see the arousal on his own face. He looks . . . good. Maybe it makes a bit of sense why Patrik wants to fuck him like this.

Okay. That makes this easier. Nikolaj heads back towards the bed, grabs the lube from the bedside table, and doesn’t give himself time to hesitate before he slips back on and climbs into Patrik’s lap. Patrik grabs his hips to steady him and clearly feels the fabric; his mouth twists in confusion but he doesn’t open in eyes, and Nikolaj laughs a bit.

“Okay,” he says, settling his arms on Patrik’s shoulders. “You can open your eyes now.”

He does, and immediately stops breathing. Blue eyes go wide and drag over Nikolaj, over and over like he’s trying to take in as much as he can.

“There,” Nikolaj says, already flushing under the attention, “you happy?”

There’s something strangled in Patrik’s voice when he speaks. “Niky . . .” It seems difficult for him to even get that out, and he doesn’t say anything afterwards. He just keeps staring, looking like he’s been punched in the gut.

Nikolaj grins, knowing he looks nervous and not caring. Of the two of them Patrik’s the one with the stupider reaction, anyway. Nikolaj’s gonna remember the dumb look on his face forever. “Never say I don’t do anything for you, you weirdo.” He grinds his ass down to really make his point.

Patrik’s fingers dig into his hips, and suddenly Nikolaj’s falling on his back and all the air’s been knocked out of him. “Niky,” Patrik murmurs, biting marks into his neck, carelessly painful, “you’re perfect. I love—” He interrupts himself, kissing Nikolaj on the mouth. It’s hot and messy and Nikolaj can’t even catch the breath he lost. Nikolaj wraps his legs around Patrik’s hips, digs his heels into the small of Patrik’s back so he has the leverage to pull up and grind against him.

“It’s just a jersey,” he gasps when Patrik gives him a chance to breathe.

Patrik flattens a hand over the crest on the front, pressing down hard enough that it scratches against Nikolaj’s bare skin. “It’s _mine_ .” Nikolaj can hear what he’s not saying. _You’re mine, too_. He shivers, turning his head to the side so he doesn’t see the look in Patrik’s eyes, possessive and wild.

“Weren’t you gonna fuck me in it?” There’s only so much of this Nikolaj can take before he’s out of his mind, and he’s almost there.

“I’m going to,” Patrik says, still staring. Even from the corner of his eye Nikolaj can see his expression change, the way his eyes light up. “Actually, I have an idea.” Without saying more he wrestles an arm under Nikolaj’s back, hauls him up, and spins them so Nikolaj’s in his lap and they’re facing the other way.

Nikolaj moans, loud and wordlessly, suddenly half-mindless with want and completely breathless. Every time Patrik just hauls him around like that, like he weighs nothing, it goes straight to his dick. He trembles in the circle of Patrik’s arms, breathing hard against Patrik’s cheek.

“Like this,” Patrik says decisively. “I wanna fuck you like this.”

“Oh my god,” Nikolaj whines, hips twitching, “is it because of the mirror? You wanna see your number?”

Patrik giggles into his skin. “You look good in it, Niky.”

Nikolaj’s starting to feel like he’s losing his mind, which is absolutely unfair because this is _Patrik’s_ kink and not his. But wearing Patrik’s jersey is so much different from wearing his shirts, because the jersey has his number—it has his _name_ —and it’s like a brand on Nikolaj’s skin that burns brighter every time the inside stitching scratches his skin. The worst thing is that he knows Patrik is staring at him in the mirror, because fucking Patrik always likes to _watch_.

“Just—” Nikolaj half nuzzles, half butts his head against Patrik’s. “Get on with it. I’m getting bored.”

Patrik nips at his throat. Nikolaj shivers, feeling a bit like he’s shaking out of his skin. “Okay, okay.” He huffs out a laugh into Nikolaj’s neck, winding his arms up beneath the shirt and squeezing Nikolaj even closer. “You’re eager.”

Nikolaj almost snaps out a response, maybe threaten to leave Patrik hanging and put the jersey back on its hanger. But Patrik’s arm moves, and Nikolaj hears the snap of the cap coming off the lube, and whatever he was about to say comes out as a weird mumbled whine. “Shut up,” he says, when he feels Patrik’s grin against his skin. “I’m doing this for you, so you can at least not be a dick.”

Laughing, Patrik leans back enough to press a soft, lingering kiss to his mouth. “Yeah, okay.” He kisses Nikolaj some more, one big hand rubbing up and down his back, and then without warning presses two lubed up fingers against his hole.

“Jesus—” Nikolaj jumps, thighs trembling where they’re spread across Patrik’s lap. He breaks off the kiss, hands on Patrik’s shoulders as he tries to readjust his balance. “Warning, Patty.”

They both know it’s futile. Patrik does things at his own pace, and he keeps that pace to himself.

Still, Patrik’s also a tease. He slowly, gently circles his fingers, not pressing in, and Nikolaj whines through his teeth. “Sorry,” he croons, not sounding sorry at all. “Should I stop?” He’s so smug about it, coaxing noises out of Nikolaj with barely any effort.

“Patrik—”

He works a finger in, and Nikolaj just wraps his arms tight around his shoulders and hunches over to groan into Patrik’s neck.

Patrik drives him _crazy_ like that. He fucks Nikolaj with his fingers slowly, lazily, riding the edge of overstimulation as he mouths and bites at Nikolaj’s jaw. He murmurs, “you look so good, Nik,” and, “that’s it, that’s it,” and, “ _mine_ ,” in a low, filthy voice, laughing when Nikolaj breathlessly tells him to shut up. For his part, Nikolaj just holds on and ignores the burn in his shaking thighs and tries not to let loose too many noises—because Patrik loves when he’s loud, and he can’t indulge Patrik more than he already has.

Two more fingers and way more prep than necessary later, Patrik crooks his fingers before finally slipping them out. “Finally,” Nikolaj mutters. “Hurry up.” Desperation is already making him shake as he grinds down into Patrik’s lap.

“You’re eager.” It’s kind of a question, kind of not, as Patrik reaches between them to shove his sweats down enough to pull his dick out.

Nikolaj almost denies it. But, well, Patrik knows already. “Yeah,” he admits, swallowing down his pride. “So hurry. Please.”

Patrik slicks his dick up with lube and together they figure out the right angle, and Nikolaj buries his face in Patrik’s neck and _whines_ at the first press of Patrik’s dick inside him. It’s an awkward position, his thighs already starting to burn as he works himself down, but somehow his uneasy balance makes it all so much hotter.

They both groan when Nikolaj finally settles completely in Patrik’s lap. He’s lust-drunk and shivering and _full_.

“Fuck,” Patrik rumbles, his hands wrapping around Nikolaj’s waist as he rolls his hips. Nikolaj bites down on a moan. “This is perfect, Niky. You’re perfect.” They find a rhythm together—slow but still intense, Nikolaj’s thighs burning, Patrik helping him along with hands on his waist and rolling hips. He fists a hand in the back of the jersey, pressing a kiss to Nikolaj’s skin right near the collar. “You look so good in this. Look like you belong to me.”

Nikolaj almost fucking comes right then. “Holy _shit_ ,” he whines into Patrik’s neck, “Patty, you can’t say shit like that.”

Patrik huffs out a laugh that sounds almost as unsteady as Nikolaj feels. “But it’s true.”

“You’re so _weird_.” He says it with a nervous giggle, like he’s not exactly as affected by it all as Patrik is. “Really fucking weird, man.”

Patrik rocks his hips, and Nikolaj’s giggle turns into a high-pitched whimper. “Stop talking so much,” Patrik says, holding Nikolaj in place with hands on his waist while he grinds up into him. It’s unbelievably hot, just this slow grind that has Nikolaj’s legs trembling and his dick leaking precome.

Fuck. Patrik’s big, and it’s all Nikolaj can focus on. Just—the drag of Patrik’s dick inside him, the pressure of Patrik’s hands splayed on his waist, the way his thighs have to stretch to fit over Patrik’s lap. It’s overwhelming. He whimpers and moans and whines into Patrik’s skin, biting marks into his shoulder, shaking so hard it almost hurts somewhere deep in the pit of his gut.

“Niky,” Patrik says, grabbing Nikolaj and holding him down, so all Nikolaj can really do is circle his hips and moan at how full he feels. “Let me see you.”

Fuck. _Fuck_. A full-body shudder wracks Nikolaj’s body as he heaves out a breath, arms tightening around Patrik’s shoulders. He doesn’t know if he can. Already, drowning in Patrik’s jersey makes him feel like he can’t breathe, like he’s burning up all over. Looking at Patrik—really looking, the way Patrik wants—might kill him.

But he steadies himself on Patrik’s shoulders and leans back. Meeting Patrik’s eyes sends a hot bolt of arousal to his dick. Something about the way Patrik looks at him, intense and unblinking, makes Nikolaj feel like he’s on display. He flushes hot, eyes flicking to look over Patrik’s shoulder.

“Why do you have to stare like that?” he whines. It’s a question he asks often, and Patrik always has the same answer. He doesn’t even bother saying it this time. Just squeezes Nikolaj’s waist and pulls him down until his dick is buried to the hilt.

Moaning, Nikolaj meets Patrik’s eyes again. Patrik smirks, presses a hand to the Jets crest over Nikolaj’s chest, says, “mine,” in a ragged voice.

Nikolaj stops breathing and comes so hard his vision whites out. He falls forward onto Patrik’s shoulder, vaguely recognizing the jerky movements of Patrik’s hips as he chases his own orgasm. Both of them are shaking. Nikolaj’s pretty sure he’s making these soft, wounded little noises into the space between them, but he can’t figure out how to stop.

Together they tip over, Patrik landing on his back and Nikolaj still curled over him. Nikolaj winces when Patrik’s dick slips out; he feels come leaking out and down his inner thigh, and it sends a spark of something weird and hot and shameful straight to his core.

“You came inside,” he mutters into Patrik’s neck.

Hands nudge at Nikolaj’s knees, prodding him until he’s stretched out his legs, all tangled up with Patrik’s. It definitely helps the ache in his thighs. “Yeah,” Patrik says, his hands drifting back up and spreading wide across Nikolaj’s back. The weight of them makes Nikolaj shiver.

Nikolaj rubs his thighs together and makes a face, even though Patrik can’t see it. “Gross.”

“Well, you ruined my jersey, so.”

Oh, yeah. He kinda did. And it’s a reminder that his dick’s starting to chafe against the fabric. “It’s your fault,” he says, shifting his hips, trying to find a comfortable position. “This was your idea.”

Patrik huffs out a laugh, quiet and intimate. “It was a good one.”

It was, but Nikolaj’s never gonna admit it.

  


**3.**

Playing the Preds always leads to someone being absolutely demolished. Usually more than one someone. Tonight just happens to be Nikolaj’s lucky night.

All things considered it doesn’t go as bad as it could. Nikolaj’s behind the net with the puck, looking for a white jersey; he ends up finding Kevin, and seconds after the puck’s off his stick he’s being bowled over by a D-man in a yellow jersey. He lands hard on his knees and the shoving continues until he’s got an elbow on the ice and he’s scrambling with the other hand to get purchase and push up. There’s still a weight at his shoulders, someone keeping him down, even as Saros gloves a shot and the whistle blows—

Then there’s nothing, and Nikolaj pops to his feet to see Patrik shoving at Josi and getting in his face. Oh, shit.

“Hey, hey,” he calls, skating up and pushing at Patrik’s arm, “leave it, Patty, leave it.”

Patrik scowls at Josi, who looks pissed but not like he’s about to punch Patrik in the face. “Don’t touch him,” Patrik spits, but he doesn’t press further when Nikolaj starts skating him away, and as soon as they’ve turned around he’s cupping his gloved hand around the back of Nikolaj’s neck and shoving him off in the direction of the bench. The weird thing is that he keeps his hand there until they’re at the boards, the way he sometimes does when they’re out and about and he feels like getting touchy.

There’s a commercial break, so they take their time getting settled on the bench, and Patrik—he lets his hand fall on Nikolaj’s knee and keeps it there.

“Uh.” Nikolaj looks down at the glove, then back up at Patrik’s face. Patrik’s not even looking; he’s glaring in the direction of the Preds bench. “What are you doing?”

Patrik squeezes his knee. He doesn’t look back at Nikolaj, and he doesn’t say anything either.

Nikolaj narrows his eyes. “We’re in the middle of a game, bud.” He knocks his shoulder against Patrik’s, hard enough to push the hand off his knee, and only then does Patrik turn back to him. He looks pissed. He’s also kinda pouting, which is hilarious. “You’re acting really weird.”

“No I’m not,” Patrik says, unconvincingly.

“Yeah, you are.” Patrik turns to the Preds bench again, and then looks back at Nikolaj. It takes Nikolaj a second. “Wait, is this about Josi? Because he pushed me around?”

The pout on Patrik’s mouth twists into a scowl. He doesn’t meet Nikolaj’s eyes, instead glaring out at the ice. His shoulders are all hunched up, his hands curled in his lap. Nikolaj knows him well enough to know he’s at least kind of embarrassed. It’s maybe the best thing. Patty getting overprotective is hot, usually, but it’s fucking cute when he’s acting like _this_.

Snickering, Nikolaj taps his stick against Patrik’s skates. “Babe, we’re hockey players. You can’t get mad at every guy that’s rough with me.”

“It’s not—” Patrik snaps his mouth shut, and furrows his brow at the ice. His next words are spoken lower, more slowly, more deliberate as he chooses what he wants to say. “It was the way he was holding you down.”

Oh. _Oh_. If Nikolaj wasn’t already flushed from playing he’d be blushing, but this is also the funniest thing that’s happened all week. Stuffing down a laugh, he leans into Patrik’s side and murmurs, “what, on my hands and knees?”

Patrik gives him a look. “Yes.”

Nikolaj giggles; he can’t help it. “So, you don’t like seeing other guys put me there?” He shoves his shoulder against Patrik’s again. “This is another one of your weird things?”

“It’s not weird.”

“Oh my god,” Kyle groans beside Nikolaj, muffled, and when Nikolaj turns to look at him he’s got his glove over his face. “Will you guys please shut the fuck up.” He moves his hand enough to look at Nikolaj. “You know I’m mic’d up, right?”

“Fuck,” Patrik says, but he’s starting to laugh.

Nikolaj drags a hand over his face, muffling his nervous giggling. “Sorry, KC.”

Kyle scoffs. “You should be. And you should apologize to the editors who have to listen to that bullshit.”

“Sorry editors,” Patrik and Nikolaj say in unison, before dissolving into laughter.

(Later, Nikolaj makes sure he’s far, far away from Kyle when he sidles up next to Patrik and says, “if you’re still upset about Josi, you can put me on my hands and knees later to make yourself feel better.”

He skates off before he can see the expression on Patrik’s face, but he imagines it must be pretty fucking good.)

  


**4.**

The blare of Nikolaj’s alarm wakes him up from a really weird dream and he groans, burying his head further into the pillow. As usual, Patrik doesn’t even really wake up; he just shifts and his fingers flex where they’re resting on Nikolaj’s back, his sleepy murmuring muffled into his pillow. Sometimes Nikolaj likes that Patrik’s a heavy sleeper, because he looks really stupid when he’s asleep and Nikolaj’s gotten some great pictures—but he really doesn’t like it when they’ve gotta get up early for morning skate and Nikolaj’s all alone.

With another groan, Nikolaj reaches blindly until he can grab his phone and shut off the alarm. Then he slips out of bed, barely sparing a glance for the (stupidly adorable) way Patrik grumbles and pulls his arm back in.

Nikolaj’s naked and already shivering in the cold, so he grabs a shirt and a pair of sweats off the floor that he’s pretty sure are Patrik’s from yesterday. They’re soft, and they still smell like him, and Nikolaj takes a second to bring the collar of the shirt up around his mouth and breathe in deep. Patrik’s not awake to tease him about how quickly the tension in his shoulders bleeds out.

He trudges through their apartment in a daze, stumbling around blurry hallways, squinting when he makes it into the kitchen and there’s sunlight blazing through the big window.

Coffee’s mechanical, at this point. Filter, grounds, water, button. Easy.

Nikolaj makes it back to the bedroom and Patty’s still asleep. He’s even _more_ asleep than he was when Nikolaj left, flat on his stomach with his head turned away from the window. _Jackass_ , Nikolaj thinks, because getting up to start the coffee while Prince Patty sleeps through the morning is the worst part about living together.

“Hey,” he grumbles, kicking at the mattress hard enough to jostle it. “Wake up.”

Patrik doesn’t move.

“Patty, I swear to god—” Nikolaj climbs onto the bed, resisting the urge to just collapse and fall back asleep. He pushes at Patrik’s shoulder, pokes at his face, tugs at his hair. That gets his face all scrunched up, but he doesn’t open his eyes. “You suck,” Nikolaj tells him, and then he pinches Patrik’s side, _hard_.

“ _Ow_ ,” Patrik whines, eyes fluttering open. He looks even stupider like this, still half-asleep and pouting up at Nikolaj with stupidly blue eyes. “Fly, that’s mean.”

“Get up.” Nikolaj gets back to his feet. “We gotta shower and eat.”

Patrik rolls over onto his back, but he doesn’t move to get up. “Why can’t you be nice and bring me food?” He tosses his head back, eyes closing again, heaving out a sigh. “You’d be the worst wife ever.”

Nikolaj rolls his eyes. “If you want a housewife you’re looking in the wrong place. Get your ass out of bed.” He doesn’t bother waiting for a response; if Patrik wants to explain to Paul Maurice why he’s late, he can be Nikolaj’s fucking guest.

Unsurprisingly, Patrik trudges into the bathroom just as Nikolaj’s about to get in the shower. Even laziness can’t make him risk Coach’s wrath. He’s naked, probably pretending he can’t feel how cold the apartment is this morning.

Nikolaj steps into the shower, letting loose a soft groan at the heat of the water as Patrik steps in after him. It’s a game day shower so there’s no touching, aside from the occasional bump of elbows or shoulders or Patrik blearily pushing Nikolaj out of the way to get at his body wash. Showering wakes them both up a bit, enough that Patrik’s not falling asleep standing up and Nikolaj can actually keep his eyes open.

Maybe that’s why he finally notices. They step out together, Nikolaj grabs a towel and ruffles it over his hair, and when he straightens up he sees himself in the mirror.

More specifically, he sees the goddamn _collar_ of hickeys and bitemarks Patrik left on his skin, made even more obvious by his flush from the shower. They’re everywhere—on his collarbone, his shoulders, even a few scattered further down his chest. Patrik had the courtesy not to leave any above where a jersey will cover them, but Nikolaj’s not about to give him any credit for not being as much of a dick as he could’ve been.

“Patty,” he says, trying to catch his eye in the mirror. Patrik’s towelling his own hair dry, but Nikolaj can see his stupid smirk. “Are you joking?”

“I dunno what you’re talking about,” Patrik mumbles into the towel, his accent thicker with sleep. He sounds like he’s five seconds away from bursting out laughing.

“Patrik.”

Patrik finally looks at him. “You didn’t have a problem with it last night.”

Nikolaj grumbles out something that’s not even close to English, looking back at the marks in the mirror. They’re mostly red and purple, collected in a way that makes it obvious what exactly they are. “You made me a necklace,” he mutters.

Hands grip his hips, briefly, as Patrik presses his fingers in hard enough it hurts. “Here, too,” he says, sounding way too proud of himself. Sure enough, when Nikolaj glances down he sees a few bruises scattered around his hip bones and one particularly dark one on his inner thigh.

“I do not like you right now,” he says, only kind of joking. “What the fuck is this even for?” Patrik likes leaving marks, but not like this. This seems like he’s trying to prove something.

Patrik doesn’t answer, and Nikolaj gives up on questioning for now. They’ve still gotta eat and get dressed and head off to morning skate.

Fuck. The guys are gonna tear him apart.

 

“Oh my _god_ ,” Adam drawls, in the moment between Nikolaj taking off his shirt and wrestling on his underarmour. Adam whistles, leaning up against the wall near his stall, caught halfway through putting on his padding. “Way to go Patty.”

Sami calls something across the room in Finnish, a lilt at the end like it’s a question. Patrik’s answer has them both laughing. Nikolaj wishes he understood a word of Finnish, but also, he doesn’t need to hear even _more_ chirping. He just rolls his eyes, ignoring the heat flushing up the back of his neck.

“You look like you got mauled by a bear,” Connor says, tying his skates as he stares at Nikolaj’s (now covered) chest.

Mark giggles, elbowing Jacob in the arm. “I mean, he basically did.”

Nikolaj tugs down the bottom of his underarmour. “That would’ve been better,” he says, glaring at Patrik’s grin across the locker room. “It would’ve been cooler to see an actual bear.” Patrik’s smile gets wider, and sillier.

Adam looks between them, and breaks out laughing. “Oh, the tension here is intense. I’m feeling it.”

“We’re in a fight,” Patrik declares. He winks at Nikolaj, so Nikolaj throws a towel at him.

“Aw,” Mark laughs, “we gotta find these two some couples counselling.”

Jacob elbows him and giggles. “Or a divorce lawyer.”

“As long as you guys are good,” Blake says. He’s mostly managing the Captain Voice, but there’s a hint of laughter around the serious set of his mouth. “We need to have cohesiveness as a team, we don’t want our second line falling apart because our wingers are ‘in a fight’.”

“Yes, Dad,” Patrik says dutifully. “We’ll be good.”

 

Later, when they and the Stars step on the ice for warmups, Olsen waves at him from across the red line and Nikolaj _realizes_.

When warmup’s done he corners Patrik and says, “this is because of Olsen? Seriously?” He points at his chest, where they both know he’s still covered in mottled bruises, to make sure Patrik knows exactly what he’s talking about.

Patrik shrugs, his eyes bright and a little wild. “It’s just a reminder,” he says.

“A reminder?”

Another shrug. “That you’re mine.”

Nikolaj flushes—Patrik says it so easily and so often and it always makes his heart race, no matter how many times he hears it or how stupid Patrik’s being about it. He maintains the unimpressed glare in spite of probably looking like an idiot. “You know it doesn’t work if he can’t see it,” he says, tipping his chin up so he’s looking at Patrik head on.

“Stupid,” Patrik snickers, “it’s a reminder for you.”

“Stupid,” Nikolaj snarks back, “I already know.”

Patrik’s smile softens, and Nikolaj can’t hold his glare. Yeah, Patrik’s annoying and weird and has a possessive streak bigger than his ego, but. Nikolaj’s stuck with him at this point, for better or worse.

  


**5.**

When they’re deciding on a post-win celebratory clubbing location Adam suddenly asks Nikolaj—maybe Patrik by extension, but Patrik’s staying quiet—if he’s ever been to a gay bar. Nikolaj hasn’t, so he tells him that. Adam seems shocked, but it’s not like he ever had the opportunity. He wasn’t gonna risk outing himself, and then he was with Patrik, and then they came out—but Patrik’s not the clubbing type, and Nikolaj’s not gonna go to a gay bar _without_ his boyfriend.

“Okay,” Adam says, clapping his hands together once, suddenly determined, “we’re going to a gay bar.”

“Does Winnipeg even have a gay bar?” Brandon asks, hands tucked into his pockets.

“A couple,” Sami answers quietly, with certainty. Everyone turns to look at him, and he immediately looks like he regrets speaking at all. “I mean—um.”

“Well, we don’t have time to unpack that,” Connor says. “Sami, send everyone a location and we’ll all meet there in . . . let’s say half an hour?”

Sami’s gone bright red, and Nikolaj feels bad for him, but the weird mixture of mortification and quiet acceptance in his expression is also hilarious. “Alright,” he says a bit tentatively, glancing around at all of them with wide eyes. “I will. Um . . . see you.” Then he turns around, already bringing up his phone as he disappears out of the locker room.

There’s a long, weird silence, and then Patrik says, “I think he broke Benny.”

Nikolaj leans around Adam to see Ben stuck in place, turned at the waist to watch where Sami disappeared. He’s got this dumbstruck look on his face and a flush high up his cheeks, and he kinda looks like he just skated ten laps and then got punched in the face. Nikolaj’s pretty sure he was wearing that _exact_ expression when Patrik kissed him for the first time, but that’s a lot better of an excuse than Ben’s got.

Laurent chuckles, snapping his fingers next to Ben’s ear. “You alright?”

Ben almost jumps a foot off the ground. He stares at Laurent wide-eyed, then the rest of them. “Uh . . .” He swallows, pushing a hand back through his hair. “I’m—yeah, I’m good. I’m fine.”

Raising his eyebrows, Brandon moves forward and manhandles Ben into facing the door where Sami disappeared. The fact that he’s just letting it happen is even more hilarious than his face. “Go on, man,” Brandon says, before he shoves Ben in the direction of the door. “Go get him.”

Ben looks over his shoulder, then starts a weird half-run after Sami.

Nikolaj barely manages to wait until he’s pretty sure Ben’s out of earshot before he bursts out laughing. His shoulders shake with it and he doubles over, supporting himself on his knees. It takes a second before he can push himself back up again, still giggling under his breath.

Connor nods, staring thoughtfully at the doorway. “Cool, cool. This is a good night for a gay awakening anyway.”

Adam grins. “You and LB gonna start making out next?”

“Laurent wishes.”

Laurent laughs, patting Connor’s shoulder. “Sorry to disappoint but you’re so not my type.”

Their phones light up with a text from Sami a second later—an address to a place Nikolaj’s pretty sure he’s heard of from one of the guys he hooked up with years back—and they all disperse to head home and get changed.

“Don’t be late, you two!” Adam calls after Nikolaj and Patrik, as they’re heading to Nikolaj’s car with Patrik’s hand curled loosely around the back of his neck. “And don’t get distracted and show up twenty minutes late like last time.”

Nikolaj rolls his eyes and gives Adam the finger over his shoulder. “Don’t be jealous that we’re getting laid, Lows.”

Patrik’s laugh is quiet as he rubs his thumb up and down the column of Nikolaj’s throat. “We could,” he says as they’re getting into Nikolaj’s car. “Show up late. Or just not go at all, have our _own_ celebration.” His hand settles warm and heavy on Nikolaj’s leg, fingertips tracing circles on his inner thigh.

Shivering, Nikolaj ignores the jolt of arousal and the intensity of Patrik’s stare. “We’re the gay couple,” he says drily, knocking Patrik’s hand off as he goes to shift out of park. “We’re going to the gay bar with them.”

Patrik snorts. “In a few shots, we wouldn’t be the only ones.”

He’s not wrong. Ben’s apparently having a—he’s pretty sure it’s called an epiphany, but maybe a better way to say it is a gay crisis—and everyone knows about Adam and Brandon’s thing where they get drunk and make out and completely ignore that anything ever happened the next day. But Nikolaj knows this is just Patrik’s way of avoiding going out. If he lets Patrik have what he wants, he’ll just expect more next time.

“We’re going,” Nikolaj says decisively.

And for once, that’s actually what happens. They head back, get changed—Nikolaj shoves away Patrik’s wandering hands when he tries grabbing Nikolaj’s belt loops—and the cab gets them there in time for a text from Connor saying, _you’re almost late_.

 _we’re outside_ , Nikolaj texts back, before pocketing his phone and pressing up against Patrik’s side. “It’s gonna be fun, Patty, stop making that face.”

“You’re not even looking at my face.” He wraps his arm around Nikolaj’s shoulders, warm and solid, especially in the frigid Winnipeg winter. “Don’t get too drunk, okay?”

“Why not?”

He feels more than hears Patrik’s laugh, as they head in and pay cover and the bass starts booming down Nikolaj’s spine. “Because that was a pretty breakaway,” Patrik says, dipped low so his mouth is on Nikolaj’s ear, sending a shiver over the back of his neck. “I wanna reward you later.”

A nervous giggle finds its way out of him. “Yeah,” he says, maybe a bit too eagerly, “okay.”

They find the guys at a booth in the corner and it’s the funniest thing Nikolaj’s ever seen. Connor and Laurent are huddled around Connor’s phone, probably either looking at pictures of Tinley or doing some bizarre goalie thing Nikolaj couldn’t understand if he tried. Adam must’ve gotten here first, or he’s been really efficient—he’s slipping towards drunk already, arms wrapped awkwardly around Brandon’s shoulders as he smiles and laughs at whatever Brandon’s saying. And Ben and Sami are next to each other but sitting as far apart as possible, drinking their drinks and glancing at each other when they think the other isn’t looking. _Pining_.

“This is so sad,” Nikolaj laughs, pulling out his phone and snapping a blurry picture. “Patty, I’m sad for them.”

They squish into the booth together. Sami gives them a look that’s half-pissed, half-pleading, because with them there he’s being pressed up against Ben’s side. Patrik just grins at him and mutters something in Finnish that makes Sami’s eyes go wide and his knuckles white around his glass.

“Welcome to the party,” Connor says, without looking up from his phone. “Guess how many gay guys have hit on Laurent so far?”

Nikolaj laughs, relaxing against the arm Patrik rests over the back of the bench seat. “Probably a lot,” he says over the heavy thrum of the music.

Slowly, Patrik leans down so he’s speaking directly into Nikolaj’s ear again. “Fly, go get us drinks.” He presses a soft, brief kiss to the shell of his ear. “I’ll pay you back later. I have to talk to Sami right now.”

Usually Nikolaj’d tell Patrik to get off his ass and get drinks himself, or he’d laugh at the idea of him providing romantic advice. But Nikolaj’s on the outside of the booth, so it makes more sense for him to get up and go, and he can’t really rag on Patrik’s romantic abilities considering he’s been dating the guy for two and a half years.

“Sure.” He climbs out, resting his hand on Patrik’s. “What do you want, babe?”

Patrik shrugs. “Coke, I guess.”

“Still not gonna drink at all?”

The grin Patrik gives him is wicked, and Nikolaj’s fingers flex reflexively over Patrik’s knuckles. “I already told you, I wanna reward you. Can’t do that if I’m drunk.”

“Boring,” Nikolaj tells him, squeezing his hand once before he heads off in the direction of the bar. The bartender’s busy with a cluster of girls that look like they’re in a bachelorette party, so Nikolaj takes a seat on a barstool and pulls out his phone to chirp Kyle about not coming out with them so he can spend time with his new girlfriend.

“Nikolaj, right?” It’s an unfamiliar voice. Nikolaj lifts his head expecting to see a fan waiting for a selfie or an autograph or something—there’s nowhere in Winnipeg that won’t have at least one hockey fan—but he’s surprised at the vague jolt of recognition for the guy in front of him. He’s tall and blond and pale-eyed, and Nikolaj’s pretty sure he knows him. “It’s been a while.”

“Uh,” Nikolaj swallows, and puts on his best media face. “Yeah, uh . . .”

“Michael,” the man says. “I know, it’s a generic name, I forget it half the time too. Not to mention it’s been a few years.” He grins, leaning against the bar next to Nikolaj, and.

Okay. Nikolaj’s pretty sure he knows where he recognizes the guy from.

He didn’t hook up all that often, especially in Winnipeg. But there were a few guys Nikolaj met off Tinder and fucked a few times. Michael’s almost definitely one of those guys.

There’s probably a smart and mature way to handle meeting an old hookup who doesn’t actually know who you are, with your boyfriend and a bunch of friends a few metres away. Nikolaj sure doesn’t fucking know it, so instead he shoves his phone in his pocket and gestures for the bartender a bit impatiently. If he can just leave this conversation with his and Patty’s drinks, that’s a win.

“So, what’re you doing here?” Michael asks, taking a seat on the barstool next to Nikolaj’s. “I thought you were doing it hush hush? Unless you’re out now?”

Nikolaj snorts. Doesn’t get much more out than kissing his boyfriend on national TV.

Michael takes it for a yes. “Good for you, man.” He pats Nikolaj’s arm, and his hand maybe lingers a second too long on Nikolaj’s bicep. “Anyway, you didn’t answer my question. What are you up to tonight? Just looking for a good time?” He smiles. He’s charming. He also apparently doesn’t know anything more about hockey than he did a few years ago when Nikolaj wanted an anonymous fuck.

The bartender finally comes over, and Nikolaj orders Patrik’s Coke and a beer for himself. “I’m, uh,” he glances over at the booth, but he can’t see much through all the bodies. “I’m here with some friends. And my boyfriend.”

When he glances back at Michael, the guy’s eyebrows are up. “You have a boyfriend.”

“Yup.”

“Huh.” Michael stares at him for a second. Stares at his mouth. “What’s his name?”

“Patrik Laine,” Nikolaj says, looking for any kind of recognition on Michael’s face. Nothing, somehow. Michael might be the only adult man in Winnipeg who doesn’t know who Patrik Laine is. That was probably a really good thing, a few years ago. There’s a small possibility that he knows about the Jets having a gay couple, though, so Nikolaj asks, “do you know anything about hockey? Like, NHL hockey?”

“Not really?” Michael shrugs. “Not my thing.”

“Okay,” Nikolaj says slowly. He starts to push off his barstool, Patrik’s Coke in one hand and his beer in the other. “I think I’m gonna head back to my friends. See you.”

Michael puts his hand on Nikolaj’s forearm. “Wait.” His grip tightens a bit, and he smiles at Nikolaj in a way that’s probably supposed to be charming. “Can’t we catch up a little bit? I know we weren’t close, but we had a lot of fun—“

“Fly?” Patrik’s voice carries over the music and the conversations of everyone around him, and Nikolaj almost collapses back in the barstool in relief. Then he realizes that there’s no way Patty isn’t gonna be weird and an asshole about this, and he stifles a groan as Patrik’s eyes finally land on him. He moves through the crowd easily; it’s amazing what being 6’5 and built so broad will do. “Fly, did you get lost? You—“

His mouth snaps shut as he stares at Michael’s hand on Nikolaj’s arm. Nikolaj shakes it off but it’s too late, the damage’s been done, and now Patrik has this weird, heated look on his face as he meets Nikolaj’s eyes. It makes Nikolaj want to kiss him. Or maybe slide off this barstool and onto his knees.

“Here’s your Coke,” Nikolaj says instead, handing the drink over. “I tipped really good, so you owe me for that too.”

Patrik nods. Then he turns to Michael with a frown, immediately stepping in close enough that Nikolaj can feel his body heat. He drags a hand up Nikolaj’s back and grips it around the back of his neck, fingers digging in hard enough to knock a quiet noise loose from Nikolaj’s chest that’s swallowed up by the booming bass of the music.

“I’m guessing you’re the boyfriend?” Michael asks, kinda smiling like he’s the only one in on a joke. “Wow, it’s kinda like looking into a mirror.”

Well, yeah. Nikolaj was neck deep in his feelings for Patrik at that point, of course the guys he hooked up with were tall and blond and from some kinda European ancestry. The thing is that Michael doesn’t seem to get that he was a knockoff substitute of the real thing, because he’s still grinning like he’s proven some kinda point.

“Nik?” Patrik’s fingers dig in hard enough to bruise, and Nikolaj shudders. “What’s up?”

“Nothing worth talking about. Let’s just go back to the guys.”

Michael grins even wider. “Nikolaj and I were just catching up.”

Patrik’s quiet for a second; when Nikolaj looks up at him, he’s got a weird little expression that Nikolaj kinda recognizes. Furrowed brow, narrowed eyes, mouth turned down a little as he stares at Michael like he’s trying to figure him out. Finally, he breaks the weird tension with, “How do you know Nik?”

“He really doesn’t,” Nikolaj says, and Michael says, “we’re old friends.”

Nikolaj groans, leaning over and nuzzling his head against Patrik’s shoulder. “We’re not,” he mumbles, breathing in the scent of Patrik’s sweat and deodorant. “I can tell you later.”

Michael laughs, and Nikolaj wonders if maybe he’s a little drunk, because he’s acting like an idiot. Nikolaj opens his eyes to see Michael’s eyes glinting as he smiles. He must really be stupid, because now he’s challenging _Patrik Laine_. “I’m just not the kind of friend you introduce to your new boyfriend, you know?” He leans back against the bar, still smirking, still looking like he knows something they don’t.

“We’re not friends,” Nikolaj says, bumping his head against Patrik’s shoulder again. “Patty, let’s just head back, this is really awkward.”

Michael grins. “It’s only awkward if you make it awkward.”

 _Seriously_ ? Nikolaj stares at the guy, open-mouthed. “ _You’re_ making it awkward!” There’s no good way out of this anymore, so Nikolaj swallows a mouthful of beer, turns to Patrik, and says, “I hooked up with him two times like three years ago. That’s it.” His face is burning, but it’s better than just letting Michael act like a dick.

For a second, Patrik stares at him. Then he nods. “Oh. Okay.”

Then he’s tugging Nikolaj off the barstool so roughly he almost trips, wrapping his free arm around Nikolaj’s back, and tipping Nikolaj’s head back to kiss him. It’s immediately filthy, the way Patrik licks into Nikolaj’s mouth and presses him back so hard Nikolaj almost falls over. Nikolaj winds his arm around Patrik’s waist, clutching at his shirt, pushing up into the kiss as much as possible with his balance so fucked.

Patrik pulls away, and when Nikolaj opens his eyes it’s to see Patrik’s smug grin. “Shut up,” Nikolaj says automatically. He doesn’t let go of Patrik’s shirt, and grins right back. “I think you, uh, proved your point.”

“Maybe,” Patrik says. His eyes are bright, which means he’s got an idea. “I think I could prove it more, though.”

Then he’s got an arm around Nikolaj’s shoulders and he’s dragging him back through the crowd. Nikolaj doesn’t bother looking back to see whatever expression’s on Michael’s face; he just burrows himself obnoxiously close under Patrik’s arm and takes another swig of his beer.

They head back to the table, and Nikolaj’s—he’s not sure what he’s expecting, but he’s still surprised when Patrik sets his Coke on the table and pulls Nikolaj’s beer out of his hands to do the same. “Watch these,” he says to Connor and Laurent—Adam and Brandon are nowhere to be seen, and Ben and Sami have their heads together as they laugh quietly, so the goalies are probably the safest bet—and then he starts pulling Nikolaj away from the table.

“Uh,” Nikolaj says, not really fighting as Patrik starts clearing a path through the crowd, “where are we going?”

Patrik stops up right in the middle of everything, pulls Nikolaj close against his chest, runs his hands down Nikolaj’s sides until they settle into place on his waist. Slowly, he leans down, biting a trail up Nikolaj’s jaw until his mouth’s right next to his ear. “Dance with me.”

Oh. “Really?” Nikolaj asks, winding his arms around Patrik’s neck, starting a slow grind to the bassy beat of the music. He pulls back enough to see Patrik’s face, grinning at him kinda incredulously. “You never want to dance with me.” Sure, Nikolaj always convinces him anyway, but it takes a lot of puppy eyes and pleading to get Patrik off his ass.

“Maybe I feel like it tonight,” is all Patrik says.

Nikolaj’s only had a few mouthfuls of beer, but he feels drunk off the atmosphere and the thrum of the music and the warmth of Patrik’s hands bleeding into the skin of his waist. He likes dancing, and he especially likes dancing with Patrik. Especially when dancing with Patrik turns to kissing Patrik’s neck, which turns to making out and vaguely grinding to the music.

“Niky,” Patrik rumbles against his ear, “can I fuck you?”

Nikolaj’s hips twitch, and his jeans are suddenly a lot less comfortable. “Yeah,” he manages, hauling up to suck a mark below Patrik’s jaw, revelling in the quiet groan that vibrates against his chest. “I mean, we don’t—” He bites down gently, just to feel Patrik’s fingers digging into his hips. “We don’t have a game tomorrow.” No fucking before game day. Nikolaj’s known for speed, not tripping over his feet because he can still feel the ache of Patrik’s dick the next day.

Patrik makes a weird, frustrated noise. “No, I mean—” He gives up with a huff, leans in to kiss Nikolaj.

Suddenly his hands are on Nikolaj’s elbows, tugging Nikolaj’s arms from around his neck as he pulls back. Nikolaj gives him a questioning look, but Patrik just puts his arm around Nikolaj’s waist and starts pushing towards the edge of the dance floor.

“Patty, what are you—” He notices the little neon signs marking out the bathrooms, and heat flushes up the back of his neck as he starts to realize what Patrik might be doing here. “Wait, are we gonna—”

They break free of the crowd, and Patrik wrestles him up against a wall and says, “shut up, Fly,” before kissing him until his head goes fuzzy.

When Patrik pulls back Nikolaj sways forward with him, chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath. “Yeah,” he says stupidly, grinning up at Patrik. “Yeah, let’s—yeah.”

Patrik snickers. “Cute.”

He grabs Nikolaj’s hand and basically drags him down the hall to the men’s bathroom. There’s nobody in there when they stumble through the door, giggling and handsy, falling over each other as they head for the furthest stall from the door. They tumble in, Patrik latches it shut—then they’re just staring at each other, kinda laughing and kinda not, before Nikolaj throws an arm around Patrik’s shoulder and drags him in for a kiss.

Patrik backs up him against the wall, one arm braced near Nikolaj’s head, the other reaching around so he can grab Nikolaj’s ass and drag him forward. Their cocks grind together and Nikolaj moans around Patrik’s tongue, legs shaking, heat flooding his veins. He starts to shake when haphazard grinding becomes a deliberate, slow rolling; little shivers up and down his spine, arousal pooling low in his gut.

Then Patrik pops open his fly and shoves a hand down his pants, and Nikolaj’s brain stops working.

“ _Fuck_ —” he blurts—too loud, way too loud—before he manages to snap his mouth shut. It turns to a whine in his throat, as Patrik palms roughly at his dick and sucks a mark into his jaw. It’s not fair, the way Patrik lights up every part of him, floods his body and his brain with sensation he can’t make sense of—all he can really do is chase it, hips bucking, head tipping as Patrik bites down his throat.

“So good,” Patrik murmurs. Nikolaj whines, his whole body flooding with the soft, pleased tone of Patrik’s voice. “So pretty like this.” _Fuck_.

“Patty,” Nikolaj chokes out, grabbing at Patrik’s wrist, digging his fingers in until his hand stops moving. “You gotta—I’m gonna—” He heaves in a lungful of air and tries to settle down. His tongue’s getting tied up in the English. To be fair, though, he’d be struggling through Danish too. “Just fuck me, okay?”

Nikolaj opens his eyes. He immediately regrets it, because Patrik is staring at him like he’s about to eat him alive. It’s the kind of hot intensity that makes him squirm.

“Stop staring and do something,” he taunts, because he’s an idiot stupid enough to challenge Patrik Laine.

Suddenly he’s got his face pressed to the wall and Patrik crowded up against his back. “Okay, okay,” Patrik laughs, nosing into Nikolaj’s neck and slowly grinding his dick against Nikolaj’s ass. “Don’t need to get bossy.”

“You said you were gonna reward me,” Nikolaj reminds him, arching his back and supporting himself with both hands flat against the wall. He turns his head so Patrik can see the expression on his face—he’s pretty sure it’s a glare, but it’s probably not helped by the way his eyelashes keep fluttering. “Get on with it.”

Patrik hooks his fingers into the waistband of Nikolaj’s boxers, not quite tugging them down yet. “This seems more like a reward for me.”

“Well, you got the assist.” He wiggles his ass, just to hear Patrik’s groan. “Take your prize, big guy.”

Patrik laughs. “I’m not gonna argue that.” He nudges Nikolaj’s legs apart with his foot, tugs down his pants and boxers, bites at the top of Nikolaj’s spine. “D’you have lube?” He’s fishing into Nikolaj’s pocket for his wallet without waiting for an answer.

“Yeah,” Nikolaj says. “And condoms.”

“Oh.” He can almost see the face Patrik’s making. Since they started fucking without condoms Patrik’s had this aversion to them; Nikolaj’s pretty sure it’s an intimacy thing, or maybe just another weird Patrik thing. “But—”

Nikolaj reaches back until he finds Patrik’s hip. “Hey.” He squeezes, hard. “You’re either wearing a condom or you’re not fucking me.” Patrik makes this offended noise, but like. It’s Nikolaj’s ass. He’s not dealing with come in his ass when he’s in public and doesn’t have immediate access to a shower. That’s pretty fucking fair, he thinks.

Apparently Patrik agrees—or he knows arguing won’t get him anywhere—because Nikolaj hears the opening of the lube packet, and then there’s two fingers working inside him.

“Fuck—” Nikolaj drops his forehead against the wall, legs shaking at the electrifying mixture of pleasure-pain, breathing hard through the burn. He laughs, a little bit hysteric. “Not wasting any time, huh.”

Patrik crooks his fingers and a jolt of arousal wracks Nikolaj’s spine as he whines through his teeth. “Shh,” Patrik croons, kissing the shell of Nikolaj’s ear. “Someone could hear.”

Embarrassment fills his body with heat and makes his head swim. Anyone could walk into this bathroom and hear what they’re doing—hear how easily Patrik’s taking him apart, how wrecked he feels from so little. And the tiny part of Nikolaj’s brain with common sense reminds him that they’re celebrities, and this is a really stupid idea—but the rest of him’s too turned on and strung out to do anything but claw at the wall and swallow down a moan.

Patrik doesn’t waste any time with prep, and soon enough he’s tearing open the foil of the condom. Nikolaj stops breathing at the first press of Patrik’s cock. He doesn’t start breathing again until Patrik’s hips are flush with his ass, and that’s only because the feeling of fullness knocks a moan loose from his chest.

“You good?”

Nikolaj shudders, gently knocking his forehead against the wall, hands curling. “Yeah,” he says after a second. “Go for it, babe.”

Patrik immediately falls into a hard, intense rhythm and— _fuck_ , this isn’t gonna last long. Hands grip too tight at his hips as Patrik thrusts and grinds and rolls his hips, teeth latching around the junction between Nikolaj’s neck and shoulder.

Then he slows his hips and rumbles, “did that guy ever fuck you?”

It knocks Nikolaj so far off-balance he feels like he’s upside-down. It takes a few seconds to even realize he’s talking about Michael. “Patty—Patrik, what the fuck?” No response, which means Patrik’s waiting for an answer. Nikolaj opens his mouth to give him shit—and Patrik bites down hard enough to hurt and the words just come tumbling out. “God, he didn’t, we just—hands, and mouths—” Patrik makes this pleased hum against his skin, and Nikolaj laughs breathlessly. “O-of course you’re happy about that, you smug, possessive—”

Then Patrik does this _thing_ with his hips and Nikolaj cries out, a high-pitched keen that echoes in the relative silence of the bathroom.

Almost immediately Patrik’s hand shoots up, warm and sweaty as he clamps it over Nikolaj’s mouth, hips stilling as Nikolaj whines against his palm. “Careful,” he mumbles, sounding absolutely wrecked. “Someone’s gonna hear, Nik—should I, do you need me to, uh, keep you quiet?”

 _Fuck_. Nikolaj kisses Patrik’s palm—groaning when it makes Patrik’s hips stutter up against his ass—and nods vigorously.

“So good,” Patrik says into his skin, “so good like this, Niky.”

Nikolaj moans into his hand and tries not to completely fall apart.

It’s over almost embarrassingly quickly. The pressure of Patrik’s dick and the solid grip of his hand over Nikolaj’s mouth is just—it’s too much, overwhelming in the way that makes him feel like he’s drowning. All he can do is curl his fingers against the wall and shake against Patrik’s body. Then Patrik’s thrust hits the right angle, and his thumb presses painfully hard into Nikolaj’s jaw, and Nikolaj shouts into his palm as he comes.

“God, Nik,” Patrik mutters, as Nikolaj goes boneless and slumps against the wall. An arm wraps tight around his waist and the hand around his mouth drags down to rest gently at his throat, holding him up, and Nikolaj shudders even harder. “You’re so hot.” He bites Nikolaj’s spine. “ _Mine_.”

“M’yours,” Nikolaj slurs, and Patrik’s rhythm falters as he groans out his orgasm against Nikolaj’s skin.

There’s silence, for a second, as they breathe together. Then the sound of water rushing comes on as someone washes their hands, and Nikolaj’s face floods with heat and humiliation.

“Oh my god,” he groans, once he’s distantly heard the door close. “You have the worst ideas. Why do I let you do what you want so much?”

Patrik huffs out a laugh against his neck. “Because you’re mine. You said it yourself.”

Nikolaj bangs his head against the wall, wincing and squirming as Patrik pulls out. “I knew that’d get you.” He reaches back and twists his hand in Patrik’s shirt; for now, it’s all he can make his body do. Everything else is still trembling and weak. “That’s really a thing for you, huh.”

“So? You have a lot of, uh, _things_ , too.”

That’s not wrong, so Nikolaj doesn’t say anything else. He just swallows down a whimper when Patrik’s warmth leaves his back, leaning heavily against the wall for support, accepting the handful of toilet paper Patrik tucks into his hand to clean himself up with.

When they’re all fixed up, clothes back in place and mess dealt with and hands freshly washed, Patrik pulls him in for a kiss that’s unexpectedly soft and sweet. Nikolaj melts into it and leans against him, trusting Patrik to keep them both standing.

Nikolaj gives himself a quick once-over in the mirror before the leave the bathroom. His lips are kiss-swollen and he’s got a few bruises starting to show up around his neck and his eyes still look a little hazy and wild, but. Hopefully it’ll be too dark for the guys to properly notice that he looks well-fucked.

Or not, Nikolaj realizes, when they get back to the table and the goalies both immediately stare at them.

Adam and Brandon are still nowhere to be seen. Probably making out in a corner somewhere. Nikolaj doesn’t know where Ben and Sami went, though. Probably _not_ making out in a corner, but stranger things have happened.

“You guys look like you had a good time,” Connor says. Him and Laurent are playing cards, of all things.

Nikolaj rolls his eyes, climbing into the booth, silently grateful that the bench seats are well-cushioned. “Where’s everyone else?” he asks, partly to change the subject and partly because he’s genuinely curious. Patrik slides in next to him, hand settling on the back of Nikolaj’s neck to gently massage his trapezius. Nikolaj practically purrs, leaning his head against Patrik’s shoulder to give him more room, ignoring the look Laurent and Connor share.

“Adam and Brandon are out dancing, somewhere,” Laurent says, gesturing vaguely at the entire rest of the club. “And Ben and Sami went outside for some air.”

Patrik snorts. “It’s pretty cold out.”

Laurent smiles. “Well, that was ten minutes ago, and then a few minutes ago Ben texted to say they’re gonna ‘head back to his place’ and ‘maybe watch a movie or something’.” He shuffles the card deck. “Then he told me to shut up even though I hadn’t even responded yet.”

“Ah, young love,” Connor says wistfully.

“Oh, good,” Patrik says. “Sami deserves to get laid.”

 

Later, they’re sweaty and high off of dancing and Nikolaj’s tipsy, and they manage to strip down into boxers before tumbling into bed together. Patrik draws him in close, solid arms wrapped around him, face tucked under Nikolaj’s chin. He splays a big hand wide on Nikolaj’s chest and mumbles, “mine,” and then, “ _mä rakastan sua_.”

Nikolaj squirms and smiles and threads his fingers with Patrik’s. “Yours,” he agrees. “ _Jeg elsker dig_.”

English is the language they share, but at least for Nikolaj, it’s more meaningful like this.

  


**+1.**

They win the Cup again.

It’s all kind of a blur, like last time. Nikolaj remembers almost falling flat on his face jumping over the boards, remembers Buff hauling him off his knees with a grin, remembers collapsing into the huddle shaking with hysterical laughter. Patrik finds him at some point and spins him into a hug and then just holds him, for a really long time, and Nikolaj thinks they might both be crying a little.

He remembers the ceremony, and he remembers skating around with the Cup, and then it’s kind of a blur of being mobbed by his family and taking pictures and so much laughter he’s light-headed from it. Anything to do with talking to the press passes by in a daze, and then they’re finally heading back into the locker room to change and cheer and cry a little more.

Him and Patrik make it back to their hotel room and get each other off while they’re still riding high on the win and the adrenaline. Then they get dressed up to go out, because how else do you celebrate your second consecutive Stanley Cup win in Las fucking Vegas?

Everyone’s at the club and it’s wild and crazy and Nikolaj drinks from the Cup again, convinces Patrik to drink from it because the champagne is sweet enough for him to like it. He corners Patrik against the bar and kisses him until they’re both panting—until Blake comes over, laughing, and reminds them to keep it in their pants while there are cameras present.

“Oh yeah,” Nikolaj says, and he’s laughing. He doesn’t think he’s stopped laughing since the last few seconds of the period ticked down and they became Stanley Cup Champions again.

Eventually the rest of the guys decide to bring their celebration back to the big hotel ballroom they rented for the celebration. Last year Nikolaj went with them for this part, and blew Patrik in the bathroom, and it was _great_.

This time, though, it feels different. This time nobody’s trying to figure him and Patrik out; this time he hasn’t just come out in the NHL, with everything that entails. Now things feel more like a steady pulse than a sudden bolt of electricity. All Nikolaj wants is to hold onto that, and hold onto Patrik. He wants to keep Patrik to himself, right now.

“Hey,” he says in Patrik’s ear as everyone is tumbling into limousines, “come explore with me?”

Patrik smiles at him, and tangles their fingers together. “Of course.”

The night is warm and dry, and Nikolaj breathes in deep and starts laughing again. He could probably die happy, in this very moment, burning bright with Patrik at his side. He’s a little drunk, but mostly just overwhelmed by the atmosphere.

Patrik squeezes his fingers, and Nikolaj looks over to see him grinning. “You look stupid,” Patrik says, his smile wide and crooked and kinda stupid itself.

“I love you,” Nikolaj says, because it’s bursting out of him.

The look on Patrik’s face softens. “I love you too.”

They keep walking, and Nikolaj has no idea where they’re going, but for now that feels fine. Tonight just needs to be different, because it _is_ different. He wants something more than a party he won’t remember the next day. Something permanent.

“Patty,” he says, pulling up and tugging out his phone, “we should get tattoos.”

“What?”

“Tattoos.”

Patrik furrows his brow. “Why?”

It’s so glaringly obvious to Nikolaj that he rolls his eyes. “Because they’re permanent,” he explains, turning towards Patrik and cozying up close, arm wrapped around his waist like they’re not in the middle of the sidewalk. “I want to remember this night. I want to remember it with you.”

For a second he thinks Patrik might say no. But then he shrugs, and cups Nikolaj’s face as he leans down for a kiss. “Sure,” he says against Nikolaj’s lips, soft enough to make him shiver. “Let’s do that.”

They make out right there on the street corner, slow and lazy and careless, and Nikolaj forgets everything that isn’t the lights behind his eyes and the warmth of Patrik against him. He wants this, all of it, forever.

They find a relatively close, 24-hour tattoo parlour with good reviews that takes walk-ins, and Nikolaj grabs Patrik’s hand again to drag him there. When they get there the receptionist doesn’t seem all that happy to see them—Nikolaj can’t blame her, because they just beat out the Golden Knights for the Cup—but she’s polite and patient and arranges a consultation.

“What are you gonna get?” Nikolaj asks Patrik as they’re waiting. He feels keyed up, like he could skate ten laps and not even be tired.

Patrik shrugs. His posture is a lot more relaxed, but Nikolaj can read him well; he’s excited too, just not vibrating with it like Nikolaj is. “I dunno.” He grins at Nikolaj. “We should get matching, right? What do you think?”

Nikolaj almost suggests something hilarious and stupid, like his name over Patrik’s heart, just to see Patrik shoot it down. But he _wants_ this. He wants this to mean something, because it already _does_ mean something. So he thinks it over properly, wondering what he’d put on Patrik’s body permanently. What’s worthy of being there.

The answer sinks into him slowly. _Oh_.

Patrik’s still watching him. Waiting.

Maybe this is a dumb idea. But Nikolaj’s drunk, off champagne and the win and Patrik’s blue eyes. So he reaches down and grabs Patrik’s left hand again, cradles it like something precious as he brings it up between them. His hands are shaking as he holds Patrik’s palm-down, and they shake even harder when he traces an arc over Patrik’s fourth finger, like he’s tracing out the shape of a ring.

“Here,” he murmurs.

Patrik makes a noise like all the air’s been punched out of him. When Nikolaj looks up, Patrik’s eyes are big and blue.

“Niky,” he says, hoarse, “you—”

“We don’t have to,” Nikolaj says, even though it breaks his heart a little. He laughs, hushed but a little bit crazy. The frantic energy has softened but it’s no less intense, and he kinda feels like he’s going to shake into pieces. “I just—I want to. I wanna do this forever with you. Winning, and not winning, and all of it. I want—” Frustration makes him huff, because he can’t quite figure out the words in English but he needs to say this. “I want everything with you.”

Patrik stares at him. Nikolaj can’t look away. He’s hanging on the edge of something, waiting for the drop.

Then Patrik breaks out in a smile, and before Nikolaj can really feel the relief he’s being tugged forward into Patrik’s arms. “So perfect,” Patrik murmurs into his mouth. “I love you. Forever. Let’s do it, Niky. Let’s get married.” He kisses him properly, and Nikolaj feels everything in it, every word they can’t figure out how to say. They got the important one, though.

Forever’s a good word.

They don’t actually get married. They do get the tattoos, though, a simple black band for each of them, and for now that’s enough.

It’s probably the stupidest thing Nikolaj’s ever done, and he’s done a lot of stupid things. But when he wakes up in their hotel room the next morning and sees the tattoo wrapping on Patrik’s finger—covering up the mark he put there, saving his place until they get married for real—it feels like winning the Stanley Cup all over again.

(“Mine,” he says, peeling off their wrappings, putting his hand on Patrik’s so he can admire the tattoos together. “You’re mine.”

Patrik laughs, and loosely grabs Nikolaj’s wrist with his other hand. “Yours,” he says, and Nikolaj can’t do anything but kiss him.)

  


**Author's Note:**

> i 100% lost control of this it’s not even funny
> 
> (nik in patty’s jersey was partially inspired by a line in kendall’s lovely [fic](http://raregoose.tumblr.com/post/183734365913/81-with-patriknikolaj-if-you-want-to-of-course) <3)
> 
> [tumblr](http://soft-eldritch.tumblr.com/) // [twitter](http://twitter.com/softeldritch)


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